Small ankles mud spattered from
The right and left heel up-spray of a
Pair of unsummery size ones.

Too much rain for June –
This month’s metadata usually pinned to
Parasols and wasps twitching at finished ice –
And so this relay had no idyllic remake on replay.

Rosie did win, though.

As overcast as that was,
Heavy in its presumption –
I could feel that weight for her,
That weight that pushed her brows
Further down her face
And squashed the soles of each step earned.
They ended brown and sodden, as shared
As the baton and similarly metallic
In their dull-drop.

Laboured claps were recorded distortedly,
Being as right-there as they had been, and quite
Right too, I had known.

I hope Rosie will
Remember that day when her difficult breath
Was drowned by applause,
When her face had coolly drooped
In the winning.

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